The silence in Milo's spacious Westkilo apartment was thick, broken only by the persistent drum of rain against the window and the occasional ragged breath from the half-dragon slumped against the wall. Milo, still panting from the Herculean effort of hauling him up two flights of stairs, stared at the creature he'd brought home.
"Well," Milo repeated, a little louder this time, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine concern. "You're not going to get better just sitting there looking like a drowned, horned, wolf-eared mystery novel."
He rummaged in a cabinet, pulling out a first-aid kit that was probably more suited for a minor kitchen burn than whatever injuries this creature possessed.
"Alright, let's see what we're working with here."
Milo knelt, carefully peeling away the heavy, sodden coat. Underneath, the man was dressed in dark, simple clothing – a tunic-like shirt and jeans, both equally drenched. He shivered slightly, a subtle tremor that seemed to pass through his entire frame. As the coat came off, Milo saw a series of nasty gashes and deep bruises along his arm and shoulder, some still sluggishly oozing blood. They looked like impact injuries, perhaps from a fall, or something worse.
"Rough night, huh?"
Milo mumbled, pulling out antiseptic wipes. He winced in sympathy as he dabbed carefully at a particularly deep cut on the man's forearm. The skin was strangely cool to the touch, almost reptilian in its texture beneath the more human surface.
The dark grass-green eye that had momentarily opened was now firmly closed, the long, dark lashes resting against his pale cheek. The obsidian horns, visible now that the hair was pushed back, were sleek and sharp, a stark contrast to the surprisingly delicate curve of his jaw. Milo found his gaze lingering on the intricate, starburst scar around the right eye – a fine line that seemed to gash out from the eyebrow to the bags under his eye, as if something had violently slashed the skin. It looked ancient, almost like a brand, full of unspoken history.
"This one looks old,"
Milo commented softly, tracing the scar with his thumb, a completely automatic, perhaps foolish, gesture.
"But the rest… looks like you got dragged through a hedge backward. Or fell out of a really tall tree." He chuckled, a weak, nervous sound.
He continued to clean and bandage the wounds, talking mostly to himself, a nervous habit. "You know, this reminds me of when I was a kid. Always scraped knees, bumps, bruises. My mom used to say I was born with a magnet for trouble. Good woman, my mom. Taught me how to patch myself up, said it builds character." Milo paused, the antiseptic smell suddenly heavy in the air. His hand hovered over a particularly nasty bruise on the dragon-man's ribcage.
His voice softened, losing its usual brashness. "She... she was my only parent. Just me and her. Always. And then, one day, she was gone. Car accident. Just like that." He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Empty house. Empty life. For a long time, anyway."
He didn't know why he was telling a complete stranger, a being with horns and a tail and wolf-ears, about his deepest pain. Maybe it was the quiet, the rain, the sheer absurdity of the situation. Or maybe it was the profound vulnerability emanating from the man, a silent echo of his own past.
"And after that, well, things just sort of piled up," Milo continued, his gaze distant. "Lost the house eventually. Had to drop out of school. Worked every crappy job under the sun just to get by. Not much of a life, really. Just… existing. Until I got lucky with some investments, managed to claw my way back a bit. Got this place. But it's still… empty, you know? Just me."
As Milo finished wrapping a bandage around the man's arm, a low sound rumbled from the half-dragon's chest. It was deeper this time, more resonant, and seemed to vibrate through the very air.
"Milo," the voice said, a single word, surprisingly clear despite its depth, like rocks shifting in a cavern.
Milo froze, his hand still on the bandage. He looked up, his eyes meeting the dark grass-green ones that were now fully open, sharp and focused. The intense gaze held his, and Milo felt a jolt that wasn't fear, but something akin to recognition.
"You can talk?" Milo managed, a stupid grin spreading across his face. "Well, that's a relief. For a minute there, I thought I'd just brought home a giant, fluffy, horned new pet."
The green eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, Milo saw a flicker of something that could have been... disdain. Or perhaps, just utter weariness.
"My name," the deep voice rumbled again, "is Elias."